East Lynne eBook

At this moment a loud, flustering, angry voice was
heard calling from the stairs, and Richard leaped
up as if he had been shot. His door—­not
the one leading to the room of Miss Carlyle—­opened
upon the corridor, and the voice sounded close, just
as if its owner were coming in with a hound.
It was the voice of Mr. Justice Hare.

“Carlyle, where are you? Here’s a
pretty thing happened! Come down!”

Mr. Carlyle for once in his life lost his calm equanimity,
and sprang to the door, to keep it against invasion,
as eagerly as Richard could have done. He forgot
that Joyce had said the door was safely locked, and
the key mislaid. As to Richard, he rushed on
his hat and his black whiskers, and hesitated between
under the bed and inside the wardrobe.

“Don’t agitate yourself, Richard,”
whispered Mr. Carlyle, “there is no real danger.
I will go and keep him safely.”

But when Mr. Carlyle got through his sister’s
bedroom, he found that lady had taken the initiative,
and was leaning over the balustrades, having been
arrested in the process of dressing. Her clothes
were on, but her nightcap was not off; little cared
she, however, who saw her nightcap.

“What on earth brings you up in this weather?”
began she, in a tone of exasperation.

“I want to see Carlyle. Nice news I have
had!”

“What about? Anything concerning Anne,
or her family?”

“Anne be bothered,” replied the justice,
who was from some cause, in a furious temper.
“It concerns that precious rascal, who I am forced
to call son. I am told he is here.”

Down the stairs leaped Mr. Carlyle, four at a time,
wound his arm within Mr. Hare’s, and led him
to a sitting-room.

“Good-morning, justice. You had courage
to venture up through the snow! What is the matter,
you seem excited.”

“Excited?” raved the justice, dancing
about the room, first on one leg, then on the other,
like a cat upon hot bricks, “so you would be
excited, if your life were worried out, as mine is,
over a wicked scamp of a son. Why can’t
folks trouble their heads about their own business,
and let my affairs alone? A pity but what he
was hung, and the thing done with!”

“But what has happened?” questioned Mr.
Carlyle.

“Why this has happened,” retorted the
justice, throwing a letter on the table. “The
post brought me this, just now—­and pleasant
information it gives.”

Mr. Carlyle took up the note and read it. It
purported to be from “a friend” to Justice
Hare, informing that gentleman that his “criminal
son” was likely to have arrived at West Lynne,
or would arrive in the course of a day or so; and
it recommended Mr. Hare to speed his departure from
it, lest he should be pounced upon.

“This letter is anonymous!” exclaimed
Mr. Carlyle.

“Of course it is,” stamped the justice.

“The only notice I should ever take of
an anonymous letter would be to put it in the fire,”
cried Mr. Carlyle, his lip curling with scorn.